I'm Still Here
by Dark Star of Chaos
Summary: All his life, Starscream believed himself to be a loyal Decepticon. No matter what others thought, nothing had ever been able to shake his conviction that everything he'd done, he'd done to help his faction. But in his last days a single action destroys that carefully guarded belief, and even in death, he finds himself unable to escape - or ignore - the consequences.


**I'd meant to have this little fic ready in time for Halloween. That didn't happen, however, due to the story taking on a life of its own and ending up more than twice as long as I had originally intended. I apologize in advance if it rambles a bit.**

* * *

Seeing clearer what I've done  
I'd refuse to let things go  
I could never once admit I'm wrong  
And what do I have to show?  
"Last Man Standing" - Hammerfall

* * *

Death was a lot more like being alive than Starscream would have expected. But it was also too different to be anything else. His systems weren't running. Even with his knees drawn to his chest, he couldn't feel his ventilations or spark pulse. He couldn't feel the air on his plating.

But he _could_ feel his arms around his legs, and the platform he was sitting on. When he looked down he could see his limbs folded close to his body, and when he tried to speak he could hear the words. These were things death hadn't changed.

He was completely motionless as he surveyed his surroundings, gaze sliding over the looming statues of long-dead mechs and darting to the shadows moving at the edges of the room, but always returning to the massive fire which burned in the center. He knew this place, but didn't understand what he was doing here. He _shouldn't_ be here, and denial of his current state had nothing to do with that belief. This crypt was for important Decepticons, high-ranking officers and members of the elite. Not traitors. Starscream's former rank meant nothing when compared to his reputation, deserved or otherwise. He didn't belong here.

His arms slid from his legs and he pressed his palms to the platform beneath him. The metal didn't yield, but it didn't really feel solid either. It was more a sense of pressure than anything, and he almost felt that he could push through it if he tried hard enough. But he didn't try at all. The pedestal was hollow, containing what little was left of his physical body, and he didn't particularly care to interact with his own remains.

His current perch was the place where his marker would go, assuming there was going to be one. The aftermath of his death had been chaotic to say the least, and he'd been both infuriated and pained by his inability to do anything but watch. The Decepticons had been making decent progress in rebuilding Cybertron's surface after driving off the last of the Autobots, even if the interior of the planet was still uninhabitable. But Unicron's attack had destroyed so much of that progress, had killed so many Decepticons, and now the exiled Autobots were returning in mass to take advantage of their enemies' disorganization.

It was, Starscream would grudgingly admit, a brutally effective strategy. He was sure many Autobots had perished in the destruction of the moons, but those who remained were more than a match for the now-leaderless Decepticons. Cyclonus and Scourge had departed for parts unknown after Unicron's destruction, leaving Soundwave, as the highest ranking survivor, to keep the tattered remains of his faction together and alive. But with most of the officers dead, and so few qualified to take their places, there wasn't much he could do. That was why Starscream had retreated to the crypt where his remains were, even though he could still go pretty much anywhere he wanted to. He couldn't stand watching his faction fall apart while knowing that there was nothing he could do about it. He was dead and buried, and probably already forgotten.

His gaze shifted away from the dancing flames, beginning another circuit around the chamber. What was he doing here? No one liked or respected him in life, and they had no reason to change their opinions now, so why hadn't his fragments been left to rust on some scrapheap somewhere? It was what he deserved, wasn't it?

He curled his fingers over the edge of the platform and extended his legs, letting them dangle as his optics found the fire again. Erratic though his behavior could be, he still had a scientist's mindset, and he liked things to make sense. His current situation didn't, in more ways than one, but this question was especially frustrating. Why was he here? With his track record for treachery, who in their right minds would lay him to rest in a place like this? Not that he _wanted_ to be tossed on a scrapheap, but at least then he would have understood why it happened. This, he didn't understand at all.

He slipped off the pedestal and started walking, feeling slightly unnerved by the lack of audible footsteps. Thankfully, it only took a few seconds to locate the statue he was looking for, since he had been there when it was installed. It was near his own resting place, proving that the universe had a twisted sense of humor. He stopped a short distance from the base and stared up at it, absently taking note of the differences between it and the real thing. Small but noticeable, just like the line between life and death. But he didn't care how accurate the marker was. It was recognizable, and that was all that mattered.

He tilted his head and folded his arms, studying the likeness of his fallen leader in silence. He felt like he should say something, but he could find no words which hadn't been said a thousand times when they were both still alive. So instead he watched the play of light and shadows over the irregular planes of the statue, and wondered if things could have turned out differently. Maybe if the Autobots had just left the Decepticons alone to rebuild after the latter group won Cybertron, things _would_ have been different. The restoration of their planet had been the Decepticons' primary goal ever since they woke up on Earth. Maybe if the Autobots had just given up, Megatron would have been satisfied, and the two factions could have gone their separate ways. The war could have finally ended, no matter how uneventful that end.

Maybe if Starscream had been more loyal, and worked with Megatron instead of against him, the war would have ended eons ago.

The spectral Seeker curled his lip at the thought. If there was anything he believed unconditionally, it was that his actions had been driven by loyalty, not the lack thereof. He'd questioned decisions and disobeyed orders, yes, but he had done so out of a desire to procure victory with as few casualties as possible. It hadn't even started with Megatron; in fact, the warlord had been the only one Starscream _would_ listen to, at least for a while. He hated himself for it now, but back then he'd seen Megatron as... well, a hero of sorts. He'd believed, or needed to believe, that nothing bad could happen to such a powerful mech, and that it would be alright if he got a little closer than he normally allowed himself to get to another bot. He'd actually felt _safe_ with Megatron, an irony that had haunted him for most of his life.

He didn't know how he could have ever been so blind. He had been in danger every time he went near Megatron, simply because he'd so foolishly let his guard down. It was a mistake he shouldn't have made in the first place, but by the time he finally realized that, it was too late. He was too emotionally invested to walk away, even though staying only led to pain.

Starscream lowered his head slightly, but continued to glare at the statue. The beatings and punishments had blurred together over the years, but he still clearly remembered the early days of the abuse, which began after his promotion to Air Commander. It was minor at first - a wing grabbed too roughly when Megatron wanted his attention, an occasional blow when he spoke out of turn - but it escalated slowly and steadily. After a while his Trine had confronted him about the unexplained dents and scuffs he kept showing up with, but he'd never told them who was hurting him, and eventually they stopped bringing it up. Even when Megatron's treatment of him became common knowledge, it was still something no one mentioned unless they were looking for trouble.

His first public humiliation had been a turning point. Before that he'd kept his head down and tried not to give Megatron reasons to punish him. But being beaten for his constant disobedience in full view of the troops had broken something in him. Maybe it was because none of them tried to stop it, even though many had seemed shocked or uncomfortable. Maybe it was because he'd been forced to discard his pride by begging for it to end. Whatever it was, it had been more than he could take. He lost what little respect he had left for his leader, and more importantly, he'd learned that he would be punished no matter what he did. So he went right on arguing and disobeying, having decided that if he was going to be hurt anyway, he might as well deserve it.

Starscream turned suddenly from the marker, wings twitching in agitation as he started pacing. All he'd ever tried to do was what he thought best for his faction. Was it _his_ fault that it sometimes meant acting on his own initiative instead of blindly following orders? Obedience and loyalty were very different things, yet _his_ loyalty had been called into question repeatedly, all because he dared to think for himself. How was _that_ fair?

He wished he could say that it made no sense, but it did. Too many had seen Megatron as the very embodiment of the Decepticon Cause, and it inevitably led to the belief that to betray one was to betray the other. Starscream himself had felt that way once, a fact which disgusted him to no end. He'd been taken in, just like every other idiot, and had become fascinated with a mech who had only ever existed in his mind. But he'd learned the truth of things, one painful lesson at a time.

He cast a spiteful glance in the statue's direction. He'd hated Megatron for hurting him, for judging him, for forcing him into a position where his only options were to submit or be branded a traitor. But the realization that Megatron had never been what he seemed was the greatest betrayal of all.

Starscream came to a stop and pulled his folded arms more firmly to his chest, hunching his shoulders against a wave of misery. He had been hurt, yes, and angry. But all the anger in the universe wouldn't change the fact that, as much as he'd hated Megatron, he'd hated fighting him more. How many times had he calmed down after a murderous rage only to become angry at _himself_ for his own impulsive actions? How many times had he berated himself for the things he did or said because of wounded pride? His only consolation was that, no matter how angry he got, there were certain lines he'd never crossed. He had never attacked Megatron in the middle of battle or allowed him to be harmed through inaction. Nor had he ever taken advantage of his leader being injured, at least until the aftermath of that last battle.

How ironic that his one true act of betrayal had been the one that ultimately killed him.

His wings lowered as he slowly returned his gaze to the statue. He'd spent a lot of time tailing the mech who killed him while coming to terms with his new state of existence, and had seen enough of this Galvatron to be sure that his initial belief was correct. It _was_ Megatron, yet it wasn't at the same time. Unicron had done something to him, and even though he'd seemed to be fighting the Chaos-Bringer's control, he'd also seemed to be losing. It... hadn't been easy to watch. But it was harder still to accept that it was Starscream's fault.

The Seeker dropped his head and crept up to the base of the marker, then sank down to huddle against its pedestal. A hollow pedestal which would be empty forever, all because of one stupid decision. He didn't want to even _think_ about what might have happened to his Trine and the Insecticons, though he suspected they had shared Megatron's fate.

Unlike most Seekers, Starscream wasn't particularly religious. But he found it hard to see his continued existence as anything less than punishment for his last, greatest mistake. Nothing could be worse than being forced to witness the consequences of his actions while knowing that there was nothing he could ever do to fix things. He had been living his last chance without even knowing it, and now it was too late, for him and for everyone else.

The one thing that had never been said - the one thing that still _needed_ to be said - came to him then, but he couldn't make himself say it. He didn't know how to admit that Megatron had never been the only one at fault, didn't know how to accept his share of the blame for the way things had ended. He couldn't find the words to say that he was sorry, and wasn't entirely sure what he was sorry _for._ For abandoning his comrades to the vacuum of space, yes, but there was so much more, so many mistakes and wrong moves that he could no longer differentiate one from another. He'd lived his entire life like a mess.

But he couldn't find the words to say any of it, and ultimately it didn't matter. They were just words, and there was no left to hear them.

There never would be again.

* * *

Starscream was roused from his despondent thoughts an unknown amount of time later by the sound of lowered voices echoing around the chamber. It was something felt as much as heard, thanks to the vibrations moving freely through the space he occupied. The sensation wasn't exactly uncomfortable, but it _was_ a strange, unwelcome reminder of his current state, and he hissed softly in annoyance as he raised his head. But the distraction itself was welcome, so he stood and moved in the direction the voices seemed to be coming from, not even trying to be quiet. He knew from bitter experience that no one could hear him, and it served these bots right if they _did_ notice something that spooked them. This wasn't a place for the living. They belonged even less than he did.

The voices were familiar, but it wasn't until a trio of winged shapes emerged from the gloom that he recognized them. Dirge walked at the head of his Trine, something wrapped in canvas held against his chest, and Ramjet followed a step behind with a similar object in his arms. Thrust brought up the rear, golden optics paled almost to white as he stared around himself. All three looked tired and subdued, and Starscream wasn't at all surprised to see the marks of a recent battle on their frames. Judging by their demeanors, it was a battle that hadn't ended well.

"I still think we could scare them off if we all attacked at the same time," Thrust was saying in a quavering voice. "All the noise and chaos? They wouldn't know what hit 'em."

"That's your answer to everything," Ramjet said irritably. "In case you haven't noticed, most mechs are made of stronger metal than you. They don't scare that easily."

"Yeah? Well, _your_ answer to everything is to go around hitting stuff with your head!" Thrust snapped. "If no one ever asks your opinion, which I _didn't,_ it's 'cause your processor is busted!"

Starscream snarled and shook out his wings, backing away as the vibration of Thrust's voice reached an uncomfortably high frequency. Almost as though Dirge was aware of this, the blue Seeker hissed, "Keep your voices down. Don't forget, we're only guests here. This place belongs to the dead, not the living."

At least someone had the right idea. Starscream trailed after the other Seekers from what he judged to be a safe distance, torn between his lingering displeasure and a desire to see what they were doing. The most obvious answer was that they were visiting someone's grave while they had a chance, but he couldn't imagine who it might be.

Thrust fell silent after his Trineleader's rebuke, so there was no sound except that of their footsteps as they entered the chamber Starscream had recently vacated. Their unseen follower glanced around in confusion, then slowed to a stop when the living mechs approached his own grave site. He watched from a distance as Dirge unwrapped the object he'd been carrying and set it on the platform, then accepted the other from Ramjet and repeated the process. None of the Seekers spoke while he worked, though Thrust continued to peer restlessly into the shadows. When Dirge was done he stepped back from the pedestal, which now supported two small chunks of metal, shaped like the lower legs of an incomplete statue.

The silence continued for several long seconds, growing heavier by the moment as Starscream stared incomprehendingly at the pieces. Then Ramjet broke the tension by shaking his head and saying, "Doesn't seem quite right, does it?"

"It would have been better if we'd had time and supplies which weren't being spent on the war," Dirge replied, earning a flat stare from his Trinemate.

"I _meant_ it doesn't seem right to leave it unfinished," Ramjet clarified. Dirge merely shrugged.

"I know," he said simply. "And you're right. But this is the best we can do, and something is better than nothing. To be remembered is the important thing."

"Nice sentiment," Thrust said. "Can we go now? I think those statues are watching me."

"It's just your optics playing tricks on you," Ramjet told him. "The fire, you know? It makes things look weird."

"We really should get going though," Dirge added before Thrust could retaliate. "We'll be left behind if we don't get back in time."

These were the words which finally regained Starscream's full attention, and he tore his gaze from the incomplete marker to focus on Dirge. There was a strange finality in the blue Seeker's voice, as though he didn't foresee ever returning from their unknown destination. Which actually wasn't so strange coming from Dirge, but the other two looked equally grim, giving Starscream the feeling that he'd missed something important while he was wallowing in guilt.

"We shouldn't have to go at all!" Thrust protested even as he followed the rest of his Trine away from the grave. _"We're_ the ones who started rebuilding everything. The Autobots don't even _care_ about Cybertron, they just don't want us to have it!"

"Whether that's true or not, there's not much we can do about it," Dirge replied heavily. "They have a proper leader, whereas our mechs don't even have the will to keep fighting. All we can do now is try to survive."

Ramjet snorted. "Oh, _that's_ gonna be fun. Charr may have volcanoes, but it doesn't produce enough energy for all of us. Are we going into exile just to starve, or what?"

"That's exactly why we need a show of force!" Thrust insisted. "We need to show those fragging home-stealers that we're not gonna be pushed around!"

"What part of 'no will to fight' don't you understand?" Ramjet demanded, coming to an abrupt halt and turning to face the red Seeker. "If we all turned out like that, we'd just be offering the Autobots a wall of targets. You're not in Kaon anymore, you can't solve everything by looking meaner than the other mech!"

"Like you actually _believe_ that," Thrust scoffed, but the argument was interrupted when Dirge shoved between them.

"Stop it, both of you," he said sternly. "I know you're _both_ upset about the way things have gone. I am too. But this is neither the time nor the place to fight about it. So unless you have something civil to say, I don't want to hear another word out of either of you."

He never raised his voice, but his tone left no room for argument, and his Trinemates lowered their wings in silent acknowledgement of his rank. After a few moments Dirge started walking again, and the other two fell in quietly behind him. But Starscream hung back in the entryway of the chamber, his own wings lowering as he stared after the living Seekers.

Exile. Things were worse than he'd thought then, though he couldn't honestly say he was surprised by this turn of events. Hopelessness had spread through the Decepticon ranks like a plague once the threat of Unicron had been dealt with, and Starscream could guess why. Any mech who viewed Megatron and the Cause as inseparable would have crushed by their leader's death, and even those with more sense would have found recent events distressing. Their brief time spent under Galvatron's rule had given them direction, but in the end it had only delayed the inevitable.

Starscream could only hope that things would have been different if he'd survived. Megatron _had_ personally chosen him as his successor, so given time, maybe the other Decepticons would have accepted him as their new leader. But there was no way to know now.

He irritably shook off his own miserable thoughts and headed back into the chamber, shrugging his shoulders in dismissal. Whatever happened to his faction, it wasn't his concern now. He couldn't do anything to help even if he wanted to. Not that he _didn't_ want to help, he'd fought for their cause too long to distance himself that easily, but... Well, they weren't his responsibility anymore, that was all. They could solve their own problems.

Problems that he'd caused in the first place. Fraggit.

He stopped next to the torch in the center of the room and frowned moodily into the depths of the fire, telling himself again that there was nothing he could do. He had already tried everything he could think of to make himself seen or heard, and none of it had worked. It would be much better to stay here, where he wouldn't be constantly tormented by his helplessness. No matter how much he regreted all of this, he would just have to accept that it was out of his hands now.

Except that he didn't belong here, and his presence, physical or otherwise, was an insult to those who did belong.

"Well, so what?" he burst out, stepping back from the flames. "What did any of them ever do for me? All those years of insults and disrespect, and- I don't owe them _anything!"_

The shouted words sounded hollow, even to him, but he told himself that it was just the lack of an echo. His voice literally had no substance, so of course it sounded strange. In any case, what he'd said was true. He _didn't_ owe the Decepticons anything, because they had never done anything for him. Although...

He scowled more deeply and crossed his arms, but he couldn't keep his gaze from sliding to the partial statue that now marked his grave. But why? Why had they bothered to give him a place here, let alone mark it? Did they even care about what he'd _done?_

He paced a restless circle around the torch, scanning the statues that stared sightlessly back at him. They would probably seem unnecessary to some, but they were far more than mere grave markers or monuments. They were also guardians, protecting the remains of the dead and - according to some stories - watching over the spirits of the departed until they were ready to return to the Allspark. Such stories claimed that, while the spark departed immediately after death, the majority of spirits lingered to wait for bondmates, take care of unfinished business, or simply make sure their loved ones would be alright without them. Starscream had never paid much attention to these tales, except for amusement, but in his current state it was hard to deny that they appeared to be more than just myths.

He came to a stop facing his own marker again, and his optics narrowed as he studied it. There was absolutely no way he belonged here, yet the very existence of the unfinished statue challenged that belief. _Someone clearly thinks you **do** belong here,_ it seemed to say, _which means you still have a chance to deserve it. So are you going to put things right and earn your place, or will you just haunt this crypt for the rest of your existence?_

Or maybe it was just his own thoughts. He had clearly been alone too long if he was finding spiritual meaning in pieces of metal. Either way, the message was clear: It wasn't too late. If he could only find a way to influence the world of the living, then maybe he really would have a chance to fix things. It was also possible that there was nothing he could do, and that getting involved would only hurt him more in the long run. But he knew that if he didn't at least try, then he would always wonder if he could have done something to help, and that uncertainty would torture him more than anything else could.

Decision made, he turned sharply and started for the entryway, only to pause and look up at Megatron's marker again. It still hurt to think about the betrayal it represented, and he still couldn't find words for how much he regretted his actions. But he could at least look at it without feeling completely hopeless, and maybe someday he would be able to find some sense of closure. Maybe then the words would come. But for now...

"This isn't over," he said softly. "I'm still here, and I'm going to make sure the Decepticons survive this. I don't know how, but I will." He lowered his head and wings, hands fisted as he added, "I won't fail again."

There was nothing empty about these words. He knew it was a promise he might not be able to keep, but he was willing to do whatever it took to do so. After all, he thought wryly, he had nothing left to lose, including his life.

He turned without another word and strode from the chamber, determined to search out a better end for his faction - and perhaps, if he was lucky, for himself.

* * *

Seeing clearer what's at stake  
And the things I have to change  
I just hope I can, it's not too late  
To get a chance to end this pain


End file.
